Dancer's Workshop.

I've started a new workout. (And by started, I mean I've gone twice and am keeping my fingers crossed I won't get bored with it.) But it's called Smart Barre and is basically an hour long workout centered around a ballet bar, the idea being to strengthen and elongate rather than building bulky muscle. So my question is this: when did ballet bars go from exciting to excruciating? I can remember a time when I would throw my leg on the ballet bar like it was nothing and bend my body over, and now, even at my somewhat taller height, things pop. And I'm 25, not 52, so I am in some sort of shell shock over what this means for the future. I guess it's kind of like a trampoline. The last time I got on a trampoline it was somewhat comparable to jumping in sand. (Awful.) So anyway, I just wanted to suggest the class to anyone looking for a good workout because if nothing else, it might take you down memory lane to dancing lessons of your past. I have gone back to Dancer's Workshop and Miss Brandy. That's all for now.

The Treehouse.

Perhaps this is what spurred my desire to "blog". About three months ago I decided to attempt an economical decision, which for those of you who know me is few and far between in the hundreds of choices I make each day. But nevertheless I decided to move from a downtown apartment complex circa 2006 to a modest neighborhood garage apartment circa the 19th century. Hardwood floors, wood-paneled walls, stand-alone sink in the bathroom, a lack of electrical outlets, etc.

I guess some of the initial red flags were the fact that the toilet was so close to the sink that multitasking was all-too-possible; the lack of AC in the kitchen - along with the lack of disposal and dishwasher but considering my cooking habits those weren't really concerns; the fact that the main house is leased as a duplex rather than owned by an individual or family (more to come on this); and the alley that my little home backs up against. But all things aside, the rent is "cheap". And since I was told money didn't grow on trees, I figured I would move into one.

One of the two residents of the main house is a middle-aged woman in the midst of a divorce; we'll call her Carly. I know that she is in the midst of divorce because she told me this within the first 90 seconds of me meeting her, along with the fact that she makes cactus arrangements she calls "Carly's Creations", owns 12 pairs of cowboy boots and is currently in her 4th job in two years -- but partially because she got the bird flu when she worked in an old warehouse in Houston. (Interesting.) We swapped phone numbers for emergency purposes, although it has since been proven that our definitions of "emergency" are not the same, but I'll save that for another day. I think the most positive thing I can say here is that she is a "free-spirit" to the T, and as a native Austinite, I can and appreciate that, or can try to.

Anyway, earlier today I was getting ready for bed around 9 p.m. when I nearly jumped out of my skin as I heard a gong bang outside my window. I waited for a second - because this isn't The King And I - and it happened again. Outside my bedroom window I see a full-fledged bronze gong set up on the clothes line (another red flag I should have seen 90 days ago), and Carly banging away. But since my mother always taught me to look for the positives, "The Glad Game" as she and Pollyanna call it, tonight still beats yesterday - when my new exterminator friend, Danny, upon arrival to my front door to deal with a massive ants-with-wings issue, greeted me with, "Ohhh yeahh I have been here before; you're the one who had the mouse problem!"

So I'll leave that for now. Not to be shared with my dad... but this is exactly why I hate making economical decisions.